


Observant

by Severina



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 17:18:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glenn isn’t sure exactly why he’s attracted to Daryl Dixon.  The man really isn’t his type.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Observant

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's tamingthemuse community, for the prompt "fixation"
> 
> * * *

Glenn isn’t sure exactly why he’s attracted to Daryl Dixon. The man really isn’t his type.

Well, okay. His arms. Those are kind of hard to ignore. And those piercing blue eyes. His hair, even sweat-soaked and tangled, that makes Glenn’s fingers twitch to smooth it back. And then there’s the way Daryl always sticks his tongue out when he’s concentrating, like right now, head bent over a piece of wood that he’s painstakingly carving into the right shape to replace the arrows he’s lost. Yeah, his hands are pretty hot, too, long skillful fingers, a couple of dings and scrapes, callouses from lots of hard work. But Glenn’s pretty sure they’d be gentle, too. 

“What you starin’ at?”

And then there’s the way that Daryl’s so damned observant. Glenn looks up slowly to see that Daryl has stopped working on the wood, is staring at him with narrowed eyes.

“Uh. Hey,” he says. 

He’d actually forgotten about the ‘observant’ part, too busy fixated on arms-hair-eyes-shoulders – jesus, how did he forget those mile-wide shoulders – and that collarbone that is basically _made_ for licking, and well, he was just trying to do a little observing himself. Okay, fine, maybe a little subtle drooling. He hadn’t actually intended to talk to the dude. While Daryl and his older brother had settled in well enough at the camp – they shared the campfire at night, offered the occasional story, hunted and provided meat for the communal pot – they were still intimidating as hell. 

“Well?” Daryl grunts out.

“Uh.” Glenn takes a couple of hesitant steps forward, eyes the Dixon brothers tent warily before seeing that Merle’s big bike is missing. His chest feels significantly lighter with that realization. Merle’s made it pretty clear how he feels about some of the people he’s sharing the camp with, but Daryl always keeps his face averted and his mouth closed when Merle starts yapping. Yeah, Daryl Dixon isn’t the only one who’s observant. Even though sometimes it’s difficult for Glenn to concentrate on anything at all when Daryl’s sitting across from him at the fire. Because. Arms-hair-eyes-shoulders. Collarbone that is made for licking.

Glenn shakes his head, hopes the flush that he can feel spreading over his cheeks can be blamed on the hot summer sun. Daryl’s still glaring at him, those blue eyes squinting against the morning sunlight, so he juts his chin at the stack of spindly sticks that Daryl has piled at his feet, says the first thing that comes to mind. “I thought you might like some help?”

Daryl snorts. “Yeah? What you know about fletching?”

Glenn spreads his arms wide. “Absolutely nothing,” he admits. “But I’m a quick study. And hey, you go through those things pretty fast. Two pairs of hands are better than one, right?”

Daryl doesn’t speak for so long that Glenn feels his optimistic smile fading. Maybe he read the guy all wrong. His gaydar’s been pinging like crazy ever since the Dixons rolled into camp, but he’s been wrong before. There _was_ that super embarrassing incident with the captain of the swim team that he’d really like to forget. His hands are suddenly sweaty, his mouth dry, and he’s just happy that Daryl doesn’t have mind-reading among his skillset. He’s about to turn away, slink back to the other side of camp and try to forget all about those damn arms – and hair, and shoulders, and – when Daryl clears his throat.

“You gonna stand there and gape at me all day, or you gonna make yourself useful?”

Glenn smiles and takes a seat next to him on the log, watches carefully as Daryl demonstrates how to carve the shaft. He narrows his eyes, tries to focus on the cuts of the knife, and only lets his eyes drift to Daryl’s deft fingers occasionally. And if Daryl notices that sometimes his eyes also drift to Daryl’s forearms, flexing with the turn of the knife, or flick now and again to the sheen of sweat covering his biceps… well, he doesn’t say a word.

Glenn also makes sure that he doesn’t comment on the way Daryl’s eyes flick tentatively to his before skittering away, or the way Daryl’s fingers linger longer than is strictly necessary on his when he’s showing him how to hold the blade. 

But when they set the firepit that night, Glenn thinks that he might try to sit a little closer to Daryl. Maybe see if he can brush their thighs together, work his way up to one of those strong arms flung around his shoulder. The collarbone can’t be far behind.


End file.
